Season 9: Episode 1: Something Borrowed and Something Bloody
by Jenthewarrior
Summary: As their wedding approaches Shawn and Juliet deal with personal and profession problems, including a violent murder, a killer walking free, and a daring serial killer who taunts Shawn from the shadows. Prepare for the thrilling adventures that follow the end of Psych; includes plenty of romance between Shawn and Juliet, friendship with Gus and Lassie, and a Shules wedding.
1. Broad Daylight

**Oh, hello there gentle readers (yes that is a Buffy reference within a Psych fan-fiction. **_**Fan-ception**_**.) Welcome to my Psych fan-fiction. I adore Shawn and the relationships he built over his eight years as a psychic investigator in Santa Barbara; his romance with Juliet, his bromance with Gus, and his love-hate relationships with Lassiter and his father all make for great storytelling, and I couldn't let them die out. Life doesn't end with marriage and people will never stop killing other people. It's the way of the world. So this series of 'episodes' focuses on the lives of the Psych characters after the end of the eighth season. It's time for Shawn to navigate marriage, kids, and solving crime in the big (bigger?) city. I hope you can connect with my writing and I encourage you to R&R (it makes me very, very happy.)**

XxX

Shawn stared down the alleyway. He could feel his heart beating in his throat, pumping hot blood to his fingertips and the base of his neck. His pupils were dilated despite the sunshine pouring down on him. His mind, being the machine that it was, picked up the activity all around him. He heard a plane passing overhead. He smelled roses and wildflowers growing somewhere nearby. He felt the wind brushing his cheeks, coaxing the drops of blood on his chin to slip downward. He could even feel the space around him, the dimensions of the alley, the height of the rooftops. He could understand everything about this place, this time, and this situation except for the _why_.

Why was he here? Why did he have to come here? If he had gone home, like he was supposed to, like Juliet had _told_ him to, he wouldn't be standing here. He wouldn't be standing here, trembling, as Death rose up to meet him. He wouldn't be standing here waiting to die.

It was unavoidable. He could feel it, just like he felt his toes curling up in his tennis shoes, just like he felt a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. He'd been in this situation so many times, but never once had he been so sure of the outcome. Life had always been a series of numbers, letters, dates, and faces to him. Everything popped out of place and he could figure out what had happened, what was going to happen, and why. But it didn't speak to him now. This crime scene was eerily silent, perhaps because it was his own, perhaps because he was too scared to put his bets on the future. He never thought he'd have to imagine the police finding his body. His blood. His wallet, with that silly picture of him and Juliet tucked safely into the back.

His adversary walked slowly from the open door at the end of the alley. One of her hands stroked the bricks, making a sound like glass scraping metal. She had a knife in her hand, hidden by the long sleeve of her jacket. It left a trail of blood behind it.

"People like us never stop searching for the next puzzle," the Prophet murmured, her mouth moving beneath her thin, violet-colored scarf. Shawn could see the outline of her eyes, bright and feverish. Her voice was grating, but familiar. "We take risks, put out lives on the line, until the day we find someone who can outdo us. And then we're extinguished. It's like we were never there, like the things we did, the people we helped, were inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It's cruel, and it's painful, but it's how the world works, isn't it, Shawn?"

Shawn drew in a breath, filling his lungs. "Yeah… I guess it is."

XxX

Shawn woke to the sound of an alarm clock going off in the next room. He lifted his head, saw the sun barely rising in their bay window, and then let his face drop back into the arm of the couch. It smelled like cheese, salami, nachos, and air freshener, but it was way more comfortable than the one Juliet had picked out at the furniture store. It was a little gross, kind of sweaty, and a bit of an eye-sore compared to the neat brown boxes cluttering the corners of their new home, but it was the only place he could sleep without having vivid, exhausting dreams.

When he heard Juliet slap the side table, and then the clock itself, he rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. He hauled himself upright while she went through her morning routine, groaning and stretching like a bear coming out of hibernation.

Soon enough Juliet rushed out of their room, bare feet popping on the freshly-swept wooden floors. She walked straight to the couch, smiling, her hair sticking out in every direction. She spoke while she tied the front of her robe, which was yellow enough to make her look like a walking banana. "I need you to pick up the new catalogues from the bridal store – John said he'll leave them under the counter, you just need to ask whoever's working the register for them."

Shawn nodded. "Got it. Wedding stuff."

She straddled his lap, putting both hands on his shoulders. She looked exhausted, but somehow she always glowed in the mornings. "And make a serious list. I'm not sending an invitation to Curt Smith or Despereaux." She kissed him lightly on the lips. He tasted mint. "Oh, and if you see Hickory at work today, tell him he's invited to the wedding."

"Oh, come on," Shawn protested. "His name is _Hickory_ – and we don't even know the guy. Who invites someone they don't know, who's named after a _tree_, to their wedding? How am I supposed to introduce him to my countless adult friends?"

She smiled patiently. "He's James' brother. James is my new partner. It's called making friends, Shawn. _Socializing_. I'm sure Gus won't mind. Besides, I think you two would get along."

Shawn looked away, pouting. "Fine, but I get to invite Despereaux."

"He's a criminal."

"Allegedly."

"He was convicted _and_ sent to prison, and then he escaped," she pointed out, smiling. It was the soft smile she gave him when she wanted something. She nestled closer, pressing her body against his, and laid a gentle kiss on his neck. He was always at a loss when she acted like this because he knew she wanted something, and he knew he wouldn't like whatever she was going to say, but his insides were heating up and his affection for her became overpowering. He was practically helpless to kitten-Jules. She was his kryptonite.

She kept her voice soft and low, her breath rushing down his collarbone. "I need to ask you something and I really need you to sign off on it, okay?"

He nodded, swallowing hard.

"I want the appetizers to be shrimp puffs."

He retracted immediately, putting both hands on her shoulder and holding her away from him. Only shrimp puffs could break such a powerful spell. "I admire your effort."

She twisted her lips. "Come _on_, Shawn, my mom loves them, and there's no other way to fit them into the menu. You either choose them as the appetizer or order them on your own, and it's way less expensive to just fit them into the menu. Besides you already said you don't like any of the other options. What's the harm in getting something my mom likes?"

"We could just serve little arsenic balls. You know, welcome to our wedding, have a spherical treat that will kill you because it's disgusting and icky in every way known to man. Shrimp puffs are an insult to both the shrimp and the puff! And the plate they're served on!"

"Shawn-"

"Honey, no. Why can't we just buy them separate? Or, better yet, we can hook electrodes to your mom's head and shock her until she learns to eat _people_ food!"

She frowned. "I would buy them separate, _honey_, but _somebody_ hasn't been taking any cases since we got here, and _somebody_ only works two days a week."

She was using 'honey' aggressively. It was time to bail out of the conversation before he got himself in trouble. "It's hard out there for a pimp, baby."

She shook his hands off of her shoulders, sitting back on his knees. "Either come up with compromise money or shrimp puffs are going on the menu. My paycheck, my decision."

"What happened to _our_ money?"

"You spent it all on that couch and the fifty cans of spray cheese in the cabinet."

"Baby, you never know when you're gonna need convenient cheese at affordable prices."

"I know exactly when I'm going to need it. _Never_. Besides, that barely counts as cheese." She slid backwards and got up, kicking an empty pizza box across the floor toward the window. "And clean this place up or you can't have Gus over anymore."

"What is this, Dictator Thursday?"

She looked like she was about to snap at him, but she held it back. She released a pent-up breath and stroked her hair away from her face. "Sorry. It's just… the party is tomorrow and everybody's gonna be over here. I want my family to like you – I don't want them to think I'm marrying a ten-year-old who won't even clean up his own messes."

"You're a sick puppy, O'Hara."

She smiled softly, but sternly. "Do it, Shawn, I'm serious. This place better be spotless by the time I get home. I won't be in the mood to do anything but yell later."

"That's strangely similar to now."

She shook her head, sighing. "I have court today. You know Ellis, the first killer I caught as head detective? She's trying to get off on a technicality, like I screwed up."

"Did you?"

She scoffed. "No. I _didn't_ screw up. She's just… a monster. She killed her kids and now she might get away with it. And I have to look at her face for the next four hours."

"The house will be spotless. Don't worry." He got up, hooking her around the waist and pulling her into his chest. She smiled, trying to get out of his hold. He held her back, laughing. "No, no clothes for you. I like you better like this." He pulled the knot out of her robe, purring like a cat. "What do we have here?"

"We have a detective whose gonna be late," she responded, pulling out of his arms and twirling around. She leaned into the doorway, grinning at him. "No couch tonight, Shawn."

"I'm suddenly motivated to clean the house."

She flashed a smile and headed into their room, dropping her robe in the doorway. He started cleaning, making a stack out of the research papers he and Gus had been sifting through the night before. It only took him a few minutes to make the room presentable, but stacks of boxes still sat in the far corner, waiting to be unpacked.

"Sweetie, do you want me to unpack the rest of those boxes? They're kind of an eyesore. I mean we got this nice place, oak floors, an island in the kitchen, and six big brown boxes in the corner."

Juliet stepped into the doorway, pausing with her brush halfway through her hair. "Uh, if you want to. There's no rush. Everyone knows it's only been two weeks. And the floor is mahogany."

"I think most people unpack after two weeks."

"Just leave them, Shawn," she responded bluntly, disappearing into the bedroom again.

He drifted into the kitchen. He had a sink full of dishes to do once he got off work, and she probably expected him to cook that night. He would probably just boil some hotdogs. Juliet really hated it when he did that, but she was usually too tired to bother with a real meal. It was hotdogs or an empty stomach.

When she came out of the bedroom it was half-past six. She wore a stylish black suit with a side-holster, strapped with a shiny badge and a hefty handgun. She'd smoothed out her hair and thrown it back into a ponytail, but one piece, a particularly short bang, twirled on the right side of her forehead. She was beautiful, even with purple indents under her eyes.

Shawn handed her a thermos full of OJ and kissed her forehead, rubbing her shoulder. "Ellis is not getting off. You didn't make any mistakes."

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "Unpack some stuff if you really want to. You don't have to. Just vacuum the rug in the hall and get the guest room ready for my dad. Are you sure you want to pick him up tonight? I can do it."

"No, no, you get to sleep and relax before the party tomorrow. I can handle your dad."

"Don't let him talk you into anything."

"I am not going down that road again." He ushered her toward the door, grabbing her keys and folding them into her hand. "Just go do your thing, Jules. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Once Juliet was gone, his morning slowed down. He spent half an hour in the shower, yawning and staring at the far wall, imagining the tiles were melting. He dug into Juliet's stash of protein bars, and then found another stash of chocolate in the closet. He vacuumed the carpet, but got distracted and found his way into the guest bedroom, where he sucked up half of the silk curtains Juliet's mom had gotten them just last week.

His shiny new San Francisco job started at eight every Tuesday and Thursday morning. It wasn't actually located in the city, but a quarter mile from their house. He and Juliet had purchased a home in a developing neighborhood – construction sounds and horrible scenery, along with some safety hazards and the occasional loss of power or water, made property rates staggeringly low. It also helped that Juliet was the new head detective in the homicide unit of the San Francisco police department, and that Shawn had helped find the project manager's lost dog. He gave them special permission to buy one of the finished homes closer to the city and gave Gus a reduced rate on the house right beside it. Shawn also talked him into a temporary construction job.

It surprised Gus and Juliet that he would take a job involving physical labor and hardhats, but he'd managed to keep it for the last two weeks and build some connections that would benefit him in the future. He'd convinced every other worker that he was a psychic, so his supervisor allowed him to become a personal assistant. He was allowed to sit on the top floor of the shopping mall they were building and 'tune his psychic abilities' while other people worked around him.

He had his predictions ready for everyone. He'd been gathering information to make 'readings' on his coworkers to reinforce their trust in him, and today was going to be the whopper. He would reveal how much he knew about their personal lives and their interconnectedness at work.

But he didn't make it to the site that morning.

He was crossing between two deep plots of land destined to be the houses of his neighbors when he saw something move in the plot across the street. It was going to be a basement, so it was fourteen feet deep, with only dirt and rebar lining the bottom. The sun skipped across move of it, leaving it in total darkness, but he could see the outlines of two figures, one large and one small.

He stepped onto the pavement, walking to the middle of the road before he stopped again. The outlines were clearer – a man and a woman. He saw something glittering between them. The big shape moved violently toward the smaller and they both froze. The glittering vanished, and then reappeared. The smaller figure had been stabbed. His jaw dropped.

Just as the smaller figure fell to its knees, the larger one shifted and looked up. Shawn caught the glimmer of blue eyes through a ski-mask. His heart skipped a beat.

"I don't need this right now," he murmured, slowly walking forward. The larger figure was waiting to see what he would do. Waiting for some sort of human response. Shawn started running toward him. "Hey! Get away from him! Back off!"

He made it to the edge of the pit. The larger figure was scrambling up the other side. Shawn hit the ground and slid downward, stumbling at the bottom and cutting his leg on one of the more jagged pieces of rebar. The larger figure was still standing at the edge, staring at him, debating. Shawn stared back, his breath caught up in his chest. He scanned his memory of the area for any sort of weapon, anything to defend himself if the man came after him.

Finally the attacker ran off. Shawn limped to the crumpling victim. He lunged and caught the body before it could slip completely to the ground. It was a woman, no older than twenty. Her face was bruised and bloodied, but the wounds were days old. Her turquoise shirt was covered in blood. It ran like a stream over Shawn's hands.

"Whoa, whoa, don't worry, I've got you." He hit his knees and took out his phone. While it was ringing he pressed his hands over the stab wound and tried to slow his breathing.

"Shawn? I can't really talk right now. I just got to the courthouse, I told you-"

"Jules, someone was stabbed. Right by the house. It's-It's that pit, you know, where that dog was trapped and we got him out. I need you to get out here _now_, bring help."

"I'll call an ambulance. I'm on my way, okay?"

"Yeah. Hurry, she's fading fast."


	2. Last Words

Shawn crouched inside the pit, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun as he examined the ground. His injured leg throbbed beneath him, forcing him to lean heavily against the flimsy aluminum ladder that gave the investigators access to the crime scene. It was physically the same as it had been when he'd caught the bleeding girl in his arms, but he couldn't stop looking at it. He was convinced that something had changed. This scene had been altered in a very slight way, something that might not even matter in the end, but the thought of missing something was driving him crazy. He replayed the ambulance's arrival over and over again, searching for the moment when the criminal could've returned and covered something up, but his head was too fogged up to give him an answer. He was in some kind of funk.

He heard someone approach the edge of the pit, hovering there, not wanting to descend. He looked up, finding Juliet's new partner, James Roy, looking back down at him. He smiled and wiggled his notepad. "So, uh, you said the guy had blue eyes?"

Shawn stood, but fell into a stoop when a sharp pain ran up his leg. He should've probably let the paramedic check him out. He was starting to lose the adrenaline that had kept the pain away. James stirred up top, looking concerned, but Shawn waved him off. "Blue eyes and a ski mask. He was wearing a dark hoodie, dark jeans, and white sneakers – Adidas, I think. He was about six feet tall, give or take a few inches. Lanky. Not beefy, but big."

He started climbing up the ladder, leaning heavily on his good leg. At the top James reached out and hoisted him onto level ground. Shawn nodded his thanks and watched him write every detail in his little notepad. "Lots of detail – I love it."

James was a junior detective, freshly promoted and eager to please everyone around him in that ridiculously-happy-puppy way that made Shawn think of McNab. He was clever, though, and his dedication to the job set him apart from the other kids on the force. Juliet had chosen him for that reason. But no matter how friendly James was to him, or how much of an immediate urge Shawn had to like the guy, he couldn't keep himself from being annoyed by him. He had a clueless, misguided crush on his partner – who also happened to be Shawn's fiancée – and though nothing would ever come of it Shawn was the jealous type.

"You're an asset to the force, Shawn," James said, patting him on the back. He shut his notepad and stared down at the pit, shaking his head. "All that detail – one little look."

He put his hand on James' shoulder, smiling with faux-patience. "Oh, James, do we have to go over this again? I'm a _psychic_. Everything I see is locked away in here," he touched his head, "_Forever_. I got some bad vibes off of that guy, and I'm getting some weird readings from this scene. There's something wrong with it."

"You were here until the ambulance showed up, right?"

"Yeah, but I helped them take the girl up. I might've missed something… someone tampering with it. I need to meditate on it."

"Shawn!" Juliet was beckoning him from the other side of the pit, where she was watching a crime scene guy get a cast of a shoeprint. He limped over, trying to walk straight every time she glanced up at him. She didn't need to know that he was on the verge of crying like a baby.

When he was beside her, she punched him in the shoulder.

"You don't chase people with knives, you run away from them!" she snapped, hitting him once more for good measure. "We're getting married in two days. I'm not having my wedding in the _hospital_."

He edged away from her, expecting a third hit. "Okay, no more knives."

"I have to get back to court soon," she murmured, looking down into the pit and sighing. "I want you to work this with James. Be nice to him. Keep me in the loop, okay?"

"First stop is the hospital, so you're officially in the loop. Have fun in court."

XxX

Shawn sat near the vending machines in a private waiting room near the OR, where surgeons were working to keep the stabbing victim alive. His stomach rumbled as he stared through the plastic. James paced in front of the door, constantly checking his notepad as if the description of the suspect would change spontaneously. He'd been on edge since they'd arrived.

"Dude, sit down, you're making me nervous," Shawn said, patting the chair beside him. James looked up, clearing his throat, but kept pacing. "Seriously," Shawn went on, "It might take a while. Just sit down and wait for the doctors to come out."

James nodded and sat beside him, tapping his feet. "This is my first solo case. I'm on my own." He glanced at Shawn, breathing shakily. "I'm not ready to be on my own yet."

"Hey, whoa, what am I, chopped kidney?"

"I think it's chopped liver."

"I've heard it both ways. The point is, you're not alone. Shawnie's here for you, buddy. And Jules'll be out of court in a couple of hours."

"That's not the point… I-I want to do this. I want to prove to Detective O'Hara that I can do this." He sat back, closing his notepad. His eyes were on the OR doors. "I want to solve this case on my own. I can do this."

"Good for you. In the meantime, can I have a dollar?"

XxX

Juliet sat straight, her arms folded and resting on the wooden desk in front of her. It was eerily quiet in the courtroom – no papers shifting, no coughing, no creaking pews. Everyone was waiting for the prosecutor to ask the first question. She paced back and forth across the plain carpet, her hands folded behind her back, a deep, thoughtful look on her face. While most eyes were on the prosecutor, one set never left Juliet; Ellis' eyes, burning challengingly from the defendant's table. It was unnerving, but not enough to keep Juliet silent.

Finally the prosecutor stopped and addressed her. "Detective O'Hara, you were the first officer on the scene on the day in question. I'm going to ask you some questions about what you saw. I will warn the jury and those present – these events are gruesome and disturbing in nature." She paused, as if waiting for someone to leave, and then she stopped in front of Juliet. "What time did you arrive at the home of Mark and Diana Ellis on the third of March, 2014?"

She cleared her throat, but still managed to sound like a scared little kid in the microphone. "I arrived on scene at seven thirty a.m. after receiving a noise complaint through dispatch."

"You're the head detective of the homicide unit of the San Francisco Police Department, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then why respond to a simple noise complaint?"

"I was on my way to check on a lead in an adjoining neighborhood. I was on Oak Street already. That's where they lived. Oak Street."

"So the house was in your proximity?"

"I had just passed it, so I turned around and parked in the street."

"Your report states that you approached the house and knocked on the door. Tell me what happened next."

Juliet drew in a breath. Her stomach started writhing. "When I knocked the door swung open. It wasn't closed all the way. I could hear… I could hear water running down the hall. I looked… I looked toward the living room and I saw… I saw…"

"It's alright, detective. Take your time."

She clenched her fist. "I saw Dory Ellis on the ground, in a pool of blood. I entered the house and checked for a pulse. She was dead."

The prosecutor turned to look at the jury, and then looked at Juliet again. "What did you do after you found the body?"

"I immediately called for backup, and then went to clear the rest of the house. I found a gun in the hallway, recently fired. The bathroom door was shut. I knocked and issued a verbal warning, but there was no response, so I opened the door."

"What did you find inside?"

"I saw Diana Ellis on her knees next to the tub. I stepped forward and saw that she was holding an infant underwater. I pulled her away and retrieved the infant. It was already… dead."

"What happened after that?"

"Backup arrived. I took Diana Ellis into custody and booked her at the police department under charges of murder."

"Detective, just one more question. What is your professional opinion regarding the guilt of the defendant, Diana Ellis?"

"She is guilty."

"Thank you. The prosecution rests, your honor. The witness is ready for cross-examination."

Juliet let go of the breath she'd been holding. Images of the Ellis house flashed to the front of her mind, like she was stepping through the door again. She felt the little girl's cold neck under her fingers, and she saw the eyes of the mother as she was pulled away from the tub. She felt sick, but also relieved. She wouldn't have to talk about it after this trial. It would finally be over.

XxX

Hours later Juliet arrived at the hospital. She'd been getting texts from Shawn all morning, but they'd stopped abruptly two hours ago and he wasn't responding to her messages. He met her in the parking lot with his arms crossed tightly over his chest; he did that when he was stressed, but it meant more now because his arms were crinkling the dried blood on his shirt. He looked a bit like a disaster victim, gaunt and hopeless.

"Shawn… she's dead, isn't she?"

"She died about an hour ago," he responded, shaking his head. "I should've stopped him – I was right there, but I hesitated. If I'd just…"

"This is not your fault," she insisted, putting her hand on his shoulder. He was tense. "Shawn, look at me. You're not a cop. It's not your responsibility to go chasing after bad guys."

"I was _right there_, Jules." He shrugged her hand away, glancing back toward the hospital. "Anyway, your lapdog is inside filling out paperwork. I have to get back to work."

"What? You're not taking this case?"

"It's not a Psych case."

"That never stopped you before."

"I don't want it," he said softly, backing away from her. He released his arms and let them swing beside him. "See you at home."

Juliet frowned as she watched him walk away, heading in no particular direction. He hadn't been this upset at the crime scene, so something must've happened at the hospital. It was unlike him to abandon a case, especially one that had literally fallen into his lap. Did he know the girl? Had he spoken to her before her death? Why was he _limping_?

Before her worrying could get the best of her, James came jogging across the pavement with a file folder in his hands. He smiled at her. "Detective O'Hara! Look, I found out who the girl is and where she lived. Should we go check it out?"

"Uh, yeah, right. Let's go." Juliet skimmed the details in the folder, finding nothing that would've upset Shawn. Nothing obvious, anyway. "Hey, did it seem like Shawn was… upset about something, to you?"

James shrugged. "We were in there when the girl died – the surgeon told us she was waking up, so I went in to see if she could tell me anything about her attacker. She, uh… well she kind of… I guess that would make him feel…"

"Spit it out, Roy."

"She asked him why he didn't save her."

Her heart sunk. _Ouch_. No wonder he was depressed. "I'm gonna drive him home and meet you back at the station. We'll take your car to the girl's house." She watched James walk back to his car, which was parked on the opposite side of the parking lot, and then she pulled out her phone. It rang twice. "Gus?"

"Juliet?"

"Hey, I'm driving Shawn home – he had a rough morning. Can you keep an eye on him for me? I'm worried about him."

"Something involving a case?"

"Maybe. I don't know yet. I'll keep you updated. Just watch him. I don't want him doing anything… stupid."


	3. The Future (unless I get eaten)

**Checkerz: I don't care if you use James just credit me for his creation and what not ^.^**

XxX

_Why didn't you save me?_

Scripted. It had to be. No one said that in real life. People only whispered that in B-rated movies, when the hero was supposed to feel guilty about not saving someone they couldn't have possibly saved. It was painfully obvious and stupidly cliché, but Shawn still felt guilty. Those words, no matter how silly they were, had an impact on him. Hearing them from a dying girl whose hand was clenched around his, whose eyes were locked on his face, made his chest hurt. It made him feel profound regret for his actions. It made him relive the moment over and over again, looking for a way to save her, a way to stop the knife from entering her chest.

But there was nothing he could do. Every time he replayed the scenario he came out with the same result: a twenty-year-old girl dying, blood drying on his shirt, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility for what had happened. It made him think about Mary and the way he'd faded in Shawn's arms all those years ago. It made him think about the beach, and his dad crumpled up in the sand. It made him think of Yang fading away on that stage.

"Shawn?" Gus poked his shoulder, his brow wrinkled.

"I'm meditating."

"With your eyes open?"

"I'm also watching Jerry Springer." Shawn glanced at his friend, sighing. "I already told you I'm fine. Perfectly balanced. All my chakras are open and flowing. I am Zen."

"You're frowning."

"So are you."

"No, your frown is a sad frown. My frown is just the expression my face takes when I'm not trying to express anything. There's a difference, Shawn."

"Is it five O'clock yet?"

"Maybe I shouldn't go out with Rachael tonight. You shouldn't be alone like this."

"Like _what_?" Shawn half-snapped, half-laughed. His voice sounded a little manic, a little crazed. He reeled it in and looked away, focusing on a picture of him and Juliet mounted on the wall above the television. He let his voice lower, hoping Gus would attribute it to serenity. "Besides, I won't be alone. I'm watching Max, right?"

"Right. Are you sure you can handle him? I hear eight is a rebellious year."

"When I was eight I disassembled my dad's front steps and used the wood to build a treehouse, which fell apart when I tried to climb into it."

"Oh yeah. I remember finding you crying in the backyard."

"I wasn't crying. I got dirt in my eye from the fall."

Gus sat back, shrugging. "Whatever you say."

"You cried more than I did."

"I'm a sympathetic crier, Shawn!"

"More like a sympathetic _baby_."

XxX

Juliet sat at her desk, holding her wrist with her free hand while she wrote out a report. Her muscles ached, her feet were sore, and a blister was beginning to form on her finger – these were the physical tolls of being head detective. She was responsible for every other detective in the homicide unit. She organized them, led them, and approved their operations, from small-time stakeouts to high-profile murder investigations. It seemed the San Francisco never ran out of dead people, and this office never ran out of paperwork for her to fill out regarding those dead people.

She was almost at the bottom of her stack of case confirmations, recommendations, and presence requests when James reentered the station with a stack of manila folders. He pulled his chair over to her desk and plopped down, smiling sweetly as he opened the first folder. "I never thought detective work took so much writing."

"You'll get used to it," she said, glancing at the papers in his lap. "Are those the medical records of the victim? Let me see them."

Somehow they ended up switching stacks. James agreed to do her paperwork out of sheer kindness and Juliet started flipping through the detailed medical history of twenty-year-old Sandra Elwood. Hundreds of forms marked her transition between multiple foster homes up to her fifteenth birthday. Some homes reported bone breaks, gashes, and drug abuse while others only reported vaccinations and doctor's appointments. She'd had a hard time early in life, but it seemed to get easier for her after she turned fifteen. The accident reports stopped and the spotty check-ups became more frequent. Doctors had stapled notes into the folder indicating that she was in good health, showed strong improvement, and was being well cared for.

The foster home she entered on the edge of fifteen seemed to be her permanent home. The foster parents, Hank and Georgia, applied to legally adopt her four years ago, but the paperwork was slow. It was only now entering the last stages – far too late.

"Hank and Georgia Elwood," Juliet said aloud, drawing James' attention. "She took their name. She must've really liked them. We'll pay them a visit tomorrow morning and get all the information we can on Sandra – who she hung out with, who might've wanted to hurt her. Her social worker is listed on the front page. I want you to call and set up a meeting for tomorrow morning, first thing."

"Which do we do first?"

"Social worker and then the parents. That should give us a jumping off point. If it doesn't we'll revisit the crime scene or go back to Sandra's apartment and try to talk to the neighbors again. I'm off early tomorrow, so after the parents you'll be on your own." She stood, taking her reports from his lap and setting them on her desk. She handed him the medical records and squeezed his shoulders. "Promise me you won't panic and call me in the middle of my party."

"Promise." He got up, nearly tripping over the chair leg. "Uh, Detective O'Hara, what _can_ I call you for? I mean, what if I find a suspect, or I find another victim, or-"

"If you absolutely cannot handle it on your own, you may call." She shrugged her coat on and tossed her plastic coffee cup in the trash. She realized she sounded a bit like Lassiter, so she let her voice get softer. "You're gonna do great, James."

He nodded, trying to hold back a grin. "Thanks."

XxX

Shawn pulled himself out of Gus' grasp, laughing and gasping at the same time. He ran for the kitchen, which had an open arch leading into the den and back into the hallway. Having a circular house had never seemed so useful. Several pillows hit him in the back and he heard one of his Nerf-guns firing up. He ducked under one dart but got smacked in the neck by three more.

"Boys, boys!" Rachael called from the doorway. Shawn and Gus skidded to a stop in front of her, panting. She had her arm wrapped protectively around her son's shoulders, but she was smiling. The more time she spent with Gus the more she let go of her seriousness. "Our dinner reservations are in an hour, unless you two planned on shooting each other with darts all evening."

Gus straightened. "He dragged me down to his level, baby."

Shawn scoffed. "He shot me. _Repeatedly_."

"I don't care who started it – you're both grown men. Juliet is going to freak out when she sees her home like this. If you don't want to sleep in the yard I advise you clean it." She nudged Max into the house and grabbed Gus' arm, pulling him toward the door. "Don't let Max have any sweets, he's already eaten."

Shawn saluted her and jogged into the living room, flopping down in his spot before Max could sit there. He patted the cushion beside him and handed the kid one of his Xbox controllers. "Ever played Halo?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure I'll kick your butt."

"In your _dreams_."

By the time an hour had passed, Shawn and Max had battled it out nearly seven times on different fields of play, only to find that they were evenly matched. It was only when they entered an online match with other players that they realized they were evenly matched at being _horrible_. Shawn spent most of the game time hiding in a corner while Max tried to suicide bomb other players; neither of them came out victorious. Shawn ended up switching to a dancing game, which took out the gloom of dying a hundred times. Max giggled nonstop at Shawn's moves, making him forget about that morning completely.

Gus and Rachael returned to find them both stretched out on the couch, staring at the credits to the last song they'd danced to. Max hopped up and started telling his mom about the last two hours, talking so fast that Shawn didn't even try to keep up. Gus kissed Rachael goodnight and sat on the arm of the couch, smiling like an idiot as he watched the two of them.

When they were gone, he crossed his arms and sighed. "I got a good thing going here, Shawn."

"Max is a good kid, but Rachael scares me."

"We could have dark brown babies, Shawn."

"But her cooking is good, so I'll give you that."

"She could move in with me and Max could have the extra bedroom."

"Whoa," Shawn sat up. "You've only been back together for two weeks. Don't you think it's a little early to ask her to move in? I mean, she did leave you for that guy in Poland."

"England. And I'm not asking her to move in, I'm just saying it's a possibility. One day it could be me and Rachael and Max over there, and you and Juliet over here. We could raise our kids together, you know, go on camping trips, fail miserably at life lessons-"

"Make them build dog houses with no intention of getting them dogs," Shawn added.

"Right. Wait, what?"

"Nothing." Shawn got up and stretched, yawning. "I have to pick up Jules' dad at the airport at two. Wanna come?"

"You're on your own with that one. I'll see you at the party tomorrow."

"Bring licorice." He showed his friend to the door and watched him walk across their lawns. He entered his own home without looking back. Shawn wandered around the house, picking up everything Gus had thrown at him earlier and reloading the darts into his gun. He was straightening a picture in the hall when he heard something… off.

He stepped into the den and stared down the hallway. He could see the edge of the door. It was open. He couldn't remember if he'd shut it. He walked slowly toward it, listening for any sign of footsteps in the house, but it was eerily quiet. It seemed that every appliance had stopped humming at the same time just to creep him out.

"Baby, is that you?" he asked, stopping at the end of the hall and kicking the door shut. He glanced into the living room, but it was dusk outside and the lamp wasn't on. Only shadows waited for him there. He took the broom from the kitchen and waited there under the light, his weapon raised defensively. "If you're a monster, I advise you to go next door and eat my friend Gus. He's much more savory. Savorier? Savorable?"

Something stirred and he jumped backwards, colliding with the counter. His leg throbbed mercilessly as it struck the knob of one of the bottom cabinets.

And then the front door opened again.


	4. Breadcrumbs

"You sure you don't want me to walk you to your car?"

Juliet turned, smiling patiently at her partner. He was aware of her talent for hand-to-hand combat, her extensive experience with firearms, and the small arsenal she kept strapped to different parts of her body, but still he asked her that question every evening. She didn't let it annoy her. If it had been any other man, she would've put him on ticket duty for a month, but James was the kind of person who tried to look out for everyone, all the time. Witnesses and suspects alike enjoyed talking to him because he was open and friendly even on his worst days. "It's in the parking lot outside, like always. I'll be fine. Finish your paperwork."

He glanced back at his desk, nodding to himself. "What time are you coming in tomorrow? I'll bring you coffee. And a donut. Do you like donuts?"

"Same time I come in every day," she responded, heading for the elevator. Homicide was on the fourth floor of the building and she wanted to avoid going down stairs in high heels. "And of course I like donuts. Who _doesn't_ like donuts?"

James followed her, bouncing like an excited kid. "So, uh, with the social worker tomorrow… can I ask the questions? I wanna try out this new good-cop-bad-cop thing, but with only one person. You just sit there silently, leering at him until he cracks."

"Sounds… interesting." She stepped into the elevator, leaning against the back to take the weight off of her sore feet. "Paperwork, Roy."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going." He flashed a boyish grin and skittered away.

Juliet rolled her eyes. Was she like that as a junior detective? It was kind of hysterical. She couldn't imagine Carlton putting up with that kind of behavior. He would've made that kid cry; maybe even get him fired or replaced. But, to Juliet, he had potential. Carlton must've saw that in her.

The lobby hosted various complaint departments, a receptionist, and fancy glass doors that led out onto the patio. From there a set of white steps descended into the parking lot, which was full of cruisers and middle-class vehicles. It was dark out, almost seven by her timing, so most of the black-and-whites had been taken home for the night. Those that remained were loners from other stations, crash-substitutes, and parkers (the ones left in speeding zones to serve as a warning to fast drivers). Her car was alone near the curb, where several pine trees were struggling to survive in a small plot of dark soil.

She was looking at the trees when she heard a loud bang behind her.

Her first thought was gunfire. She hit the ground behind her car, drawing her gun, flicking the safety off, and holding it securely in both hands. She looked both ways, searching for any type of movement, and then peeked through the driver's side window.

It wasn't a gunshot. Just as her head could decide it was safe, she was moving. She streaked across the parking lot to the source of the sound. Something large that had been thrown from a moving vehicles, which had skidded away, leaving distinct tracks in the pavement. She paused at a safe distance and turned on her flashlight – it was a wooden crate, longer than it was wide. Big enough to hold any number of things. Her biggest concern was that it held some sort of bomb.

But that concern faded, to be replaced by a much greater one. Something was oozing from the edges of the crate, covering the concrete, creeping toward her. It was bright and reflective in the beam of her flashlight. Blood.

Several police officers rushed down the steps. She held up her hand, stopping them. "Get spotlights. Call the bomb squad. Get the chief down here."

One of the male officers took a step back, whipping out his phone. "Which chief?"

"All of them."

XxX

Shawn crept toward the door, his broom raised defensively. He knew if something came running through that door he would turn into a shivering Chihuahua and probably pee himself, but still he clung to his man-of-the-house bravado. He craned his neck to see the front porch; it seemed normal enough, though eerie with only the light of the street lamp to reveal it. He felt like he was in a horror movie, and he was the victim who went willingly toward signs of danger.

"Jules… if that's you, tell me right now or I might pee all over our nice new floor." He paused to listen, swallowing hard. "Jules… Juliet?"

He made it to the doorframe and looked out. His neighborhood, though mostly abandoned and under construction, was peaceful this time of night. Street lights showered pale light over the road, where some kid had left their bike. Shawn's eyes rolled over the horizon, but came back to the toy lying next to the curb. Something was off about it. One of the tires was spinning.

He stepped out onto the porch, just as curious as he was terrified. His eyes remained fixated on the bike as he walked down the steps and across his front yard. Slowly, the wheel stopped spinning. It made a soft clicking sound as it came to a stop. Shawn paused, suspicious of the noise, and then fell into a crouch on the curb. He was only feet from the bike, which lay motionless in front of him. It was even stranger up close – he could discern a pink color, and judging by that, the frilly ribbons hanging from the handlebars, and the Barbie logo on the side, this bike belonged to a little girl. But the colorful patterns on it were disrupted by something. Shawn edged closer, narrowing his eyes. "What is that?" he murmured, reaching out to touch the substance that covered some of the bike. His fingers ran over a cold, thick slime.

He drew away, holding his fingers to the light and squinting. Red. It was blood, but not fresh. It was thick, coagulating on the bottom and still liquidy on the top.

It was time to panic. He took off running toward Gus' house, banging on the door with his clean hand while he held the other away from his body. He heard what sounded like a horror movie, and some irritated grumbling. Rachael was in there. Gus' footsteps came to the door and it swung open.

"Shawn? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night!"

"It's like eight, get over it," Shawn responded, trying to push his way inside. Gus blocked him. He stood back, frowning. "Dude, I need to use your phone."

"What's wrong with your phone?"

"I think there's a psycho killer in my house. Just let me in."

"No, Shawn, I'm on a date. You need to accept this. Stop trying to interfere."

He moved to close the door, but Shawn pushed against it. He shoved his fingers into Gus' face. "Hey, look, blood!" As his friend stumbled backwards, shocked and looking a little sick, Shawn rushed through the main room and nearly tripped into the kitchen. Rachael appeared in the doorway, about to say something scathing, but he held his bloody hand up to stop her. "No time."

He struggled to dial with one hand, but Rachael took the phone from him. "Stop! I'll do it." She dialed 911 and paced with the device to her ear.

Gus dragged himself into the kitchen just as Rachael started talking to the authorities. He scowled at Shawn, but it faded in just a moment. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine but, dude, I think someone's hurt. Somewhere. That bike outside, that little girls' bike, did you see it?"

Gus glanced back to the open door, shaking his head. "What bike?"

Shawn sighed and grabbed him with his clean hand, pulling him to the doorframe and pointing at the street. He was shocked to find he was pointing at nothing. The bike was gone. He stepped outside, thinking he might've missed it in the half-darkness, but the road was clear.

"Shawn, what's going on?" Gus put a hand on his shoulder, seeming a little bit more concerned for his friend's sanity than the missing bike.

Shawn shrugged him off. "There was a bike there – a little girl's bike. It was covered in blood. I touched it and got it on my hand. And my door. My door was open – it opened by itself."

"You never lock your door. Are you sure it wasn't the wind?"

"Dude, my hand is covered in blood!" Shawn raised his hand, the only tangible evidence he had of the horror he'd just been through.

Gus shrunk back, prepared to bat it away, but instead he grabbed it. He looked closer, something he shouldn't have been able to do. Blood made him sick to his stomach. He turned Shawn's wrist and blinked, his brow wrinkling. "Uh, Shawn, this is paint."

"P-Paint?"

"Paint. Red paint." He looked back, where Rachael was standing with the phone. She was waiting for him to say something. "False alarm, baby. Shawn's just having one of his moments."

Shawn recoiled from him, scalded by those words. "There was a bike in the road!"

"Maybe you need some sleep, Shawn."

"Come on, if there was no bike then how did I get the paint on my hands?"

"Well they just painted that house over on Maple – bright red, remember? You said it looked like a big candy apple and you wouldn't stand for it, and yet you keep going back there to put handprints in the wet paint."

Shawn stepped away from him, his mind racing. He knew where the bike was. The red paint had been a clue of some kind. He'd been led to it like a hound sniffing out a squirrel. But the red house on Maple was empty. He knew because he went there sometimes to avoid looking through bridal magazines with Juliet. There was no girls' bike there, and no little girls lived in this neighborhood.

Gus frowned. "Shawn, what are you thinking? You only get that look on your face when you know something. Something big."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't share my ideas with nonbelievers." Shawn wiped the paint onto Gus' shirt and descended the steps. He went back into his own house to get his motorcycle keys and then fired it up, coughing when it threw up a black cloud.

Gus followed him, waving the smoke away. "If what you said is true then somebody's messing with you – you can't just go alone."

Shawn held up a finger to him and pulled out his cellphone.

"If you had a cellphone why did you need to use _my_ phone?"

"I didn't want to stay outside with the psycho killer." He turned his bike off and sat back, waiting for her to pick up. Her short, simple voicemail message came on and Shawn sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Well, since Jules isn't answering and you're _on a date_, I guess I'm soloing this one."

Gus looked torn. He whimpered. "Don't do this to me. You know I like Rachel."

"Which do you like more: Rachel, or your best friend in the whole wide world being alive?"

He bounced a little on his heels. "Fine! But this better not take all night. I'll be right back."

"I'll get you a helmet out of the closet. Bunnies or rainbow?"

"Bunnies."

Shawn smiled victoriously and jogged up to his door. He kept the spare helmets in the hall closet, so he turned immediately and kicked the door shut, like he usually did, but he had forgotten about his injured leg. Adrenaline had forced the pain away, but now it awakened again. He fell to one knee and clutched at his chin, pressing his forehead into his knee and groaning.

Gus came through the door, almost whacking him with it. He was smiling, but when he saw Shawn on the ground the smile faded. "What happened? Did you stub your toe?"

"No, just doing a little pre-trap prayer. Amen. There, all done." He rose, turning so his friend couldn't see him cringe. "Looks like Jules put the Bunny helmet somewhere else. You're stuck with the rainbow."

"That's fine, as long as I get to drive."

"You're not driving my motorcycle."

"I have a motorcycle license. I'm perfectly capable of operating any two-wheeled vehicle."

"You crashed your scooter into a tree."

"I was six, that doesn't count!"

"Oh yeah? Last week-"

"We're not talking about the ice-cream truck incident, Shawn."

"Fine, fine. But I'm driving. I'm getting married in two days so I'd like to live through the night."


End file.
